


Cuddling only

by accidentallyonpurpose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Sherlock, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, OT3, SO MUCH FLUFF, Safeword Use, Sick Fic, Sick Sherlock, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, but only in chapters 3 and 5, but only in the third chapter, here there be sex, off-screen sex, only chapter 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallyonpurpose/pseuds/accidentallyonpurpose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of one-shots based on prompts that happen in the same universe- Sherlock is asexual, and Greg and John are bi. Together, they create the perfect trio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comment at your leisure. Thanks for reading!

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Sherlock put one hand on Greg’s chest and one on John’s, trying to push them apart. All three of them were sitting on the couch, Sherlock sandwiched between Greg and John who were kissing over top of him. Greg pulled his lips off of John’s long enough to answer Sherlock.  
“You said no sex. Pretty sure this isn’t sex,” Greg threw a cheeky look at Sherlock. “Plus, you can’t say you don’t like kisses and cuddles.” Greg brought his lips once more to John’s using one hand to brace himself on Sherlock’s chest and the other to cradle John’s face.  
“I don’t ALWAYS like kisses and cuddles,” Sherlock grumbled, his heart not really in it.   
“Fine,” John chuckled as he pulled away, and he and Greg both collapsed on either side of Sherlock. They linked hands over Sherlock’s stomach, effectively still capturing him between them.  
“Ridiculous,” Sherlock muttered, leaning over to pick up his laptop from the coffee table. He rested it over John and Greg’s intertwined hands, tapping happily away and checking the blog for any new cases.  
“Hey!” Greg cried, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Tonight’s our night off. No cases, through me or the blog.” Leaning over, Greg closed the laptop decisively with his free hand. “You promised.”  
Sherlock let out a long huff. “Fine.” He threw his laptop carelessly onto his chair.   
“Telly?” John asked, reaching for the remote and turning it on to a football match.   
“Why do you want me to suffer?” Sherlock groaned, sinking lower into the couch.   
“We love you, you great git, and want to spend time with you. If that means roping you into a night on the couch watching the game, so be it.” Greg laid a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock didn’t reply, but a crimson tint crept over his face.   
Both men framing Sherlock snuggled in closer to him, encasing him completely in their body heat. Sherlock relaxed into his partners, letting some of the tension seep out of his body. Although he was averse to sex, Sherlock was quite fond of cuddling, kissing and platonic touching, something he would rarely admit out loud.   
Sherlock let his mind drift, not paying attention to the monotonous football game but instead letting it wander aimlessly.  
“I think he’s sleeping,” Greg whispered over top of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock’s breaths had grown even over the course of the football match and his eyes had slowly grown less focused before closing altogether. Greg’s fingers that had been previously intertwined with John’s started drawing ticklish patterns on the underside of John’s hand, moving slowly up his arm. When Greg reached John’s shoulder, he pulled John gently towards him and kissed him letting his hand roam freely over John’s shoulder and neck as the kiss grew more heated. John leaned towards Greg, grabbing onto the back of his neck with one hand while bracing himself against the sofa with the other. Greg started letting his hands roam lower, pulling at the waistband of John’s trousers and fumbling at the button. He fiddled with the button for a few more minutes before finally growling in frustration. Pulling his hand sharply away, he accidentally elbowed Sherlock in the chest; Sherlock jolted awake with a yelp of surprise and grabbed Greg’s hand out of reflex.  
“What-?” Sherlock blinked at them blearily for a moment before he fully took in the situation of his two lovers. “Oh my God, can you not keep your hands off each other for two seconds?”  
“Hey, I’m not the horny one here,” John defended. “Greg’s the one who keeps jumping me.”  
Greg grinned unashamedly. “It’s not my fault I have one very hot lover and one sexy cuddle monster,” he said with no remorse.  
A yawn escaped from Sherlock, and he stretched tiredly.  
“I think it’s time for bed,” John said, taking in the yawn that was practically splitting Sherlock’s face.  
“I’m not tired,” he insisted. “I’ve got experiments I need to work on, you two go ahead to bed.”  
“Alright,” skepticism coloured Greg’s tone. “But if you do get tired, I would wait about an hour before you join us in bed. I plan on finishing what I started out here.” Both John and Sherlock rolled their eyes at Greg’s innuendo.   
“Whatever, it’s not like I won’t hear when you’re done,” Sherlock murmured. John snorted and grabbed Greg’s hand, leading him to their shared bedroom.

Forty-five minutes later, Sherlock was still sat on the sofa, his laptop now on his lap as he input data into a spreadsheet. Greg emerged from the bedroom in his boxer shorts and leaned in the doorway for a second, taking in the image of Sherlock illuminated by nothing but his laptop screen. He sauntered over to the back of the sofa and leaned down, resting his chin on top of Sherlock’s head. “Whatcha up to?” Greg asked in a rough voice.  
“Experiment,” Sherlock answered shortly. “Enjoying your post-coital bliss?”  
“Yes,” Greg said lazily, a grin lighting his face as he leaned down and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. “I’m going to change the sheets and then we’re heading to bed. We would love it if you would join us.” Sherlock hummed noncommittally. Laying another kiss on top of Sherlock’s curls, Greg left to the hall closet where he grabbed a fresh pair of sheets for their bed. On his way back to the bedroom, Greg stopped by Sherlock.  
“Don’t make me get John out here. You won’t be able to resist our combined charm.”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes but let a small smile creep onto his face as he rolled his eyes towards Greg. “Just a few more pieces of data and I’ll be in,” Sherlock promised.  
“Alright,” Greg sighed. Sherlock, having lacked sleep for the past three days, quickly finished inputting data in his spreadsheet and powered down his laptop for the night. Throwing it carelessly on his chair he got up and flounced into the bedroom. He was met with the sight of Greg curled around John, a tangle of limbs and fresh sheets. Without saying a word, Sherlock climbed onto the foot of the bed and crawled his way up until he could worm himself in between his two lovers. Greg mumbled a sleepy objection. “I’m cuddling John. Find your own.”  
“Unacceptable.” He relentlessly thrust his arms and elbows in between John and Greg until Greg pulled him down against his chest.   
“Alright, okay! Come here.” Greg tangled his legs in Sherlock’s while John wrapped his arms around both of them, throwing one leg over both of them.  
“Goodnight, boys,” Greg yawned after settling in.  
“Goodnight, loves,” John echoed.   
Sherlock was already asleep.


	2. The next morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based of this prompt: Persons A, B, and C all go to sleep in the same bed. By morning, person A is in the bed, while persons B and C are on the floor because person A kicked them off in their sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally looking for prompts for a OT3 oneshot, but I thought this prompt fit so well with this story I would just add another chapter.

John woke with a groan, scrubbing hand over his face and reaching blindly with the other for Sherlock or Greg. His hand, however, met a hard surface that was definitely not human and John paused for a moment, taking stock. He was laying on a surface that was distinctly harder than he had started the night in. Opening his eyes, John found the ceiling was a lot farther than it had been last night, as well. Pushing himself up, John found his nose level with the top of the bed. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the still peacefully sleeping form of Sherlock.   
He and Greg rarely got the detective to sleep and, when they did, more often than not they ended up on the floor with the detective spread-eagle on the bed in the morning. Huffing an annoyed sigh at the twinge in his shoulder, John shook his head and climbed carefully back on the bed, trying not to wake Sherlock. Leaning over him, John noticed Greg curled up in a similar position on the floor, a pillow under his head. John figured that Greg must have woken sometime during the night and, instead of trying to get back on the bed, had made himself more comfortable on the floor. John lay back down, turning on his side and fitting himself to Sherlock. Sherlock rolled into John, snuggling into him unconsciously. They lay like that for a few minutes, John slowly drifting back into a doze. Just as John felt himself falling into a deeper sleep, a none-too-gentle shove pushed him bodily towards the edge of the bed. Jolting awake, John cursed quietly and pushed back against Sherlock, trying to regain his own space on the bed.   
“Bugger,” John murmured softly, his heart not really in it. John grabbed Sherlock’s hands in an attempt to stop them from pushing against him, and locked their ankles tightly together. Sherlock moaned softly in his sleep, brow furrowed as he resisted against John. Greg’s head popped up on the other side of the bed, eyes alert.  
“Now those are the noises a man wants to wake up to,” Greg whispered, grinning at John as he took in his predicament.  
“Oh bugger off, you,” John whispered back, rolling his eyes at Greg. The man was truly insatiable. “His Royal Highness is trying to evict me from my own bed.”  
“He’s already been successful in his eviction of me. I know when to give in.”  
“You always give in when it comes to Sherlock,” John reminded him.  
“Yeah, I do. He’s got me wrapped around his little finger,” Greg admitted with another large grin.   
“And he knows it,” John commented.   
“Much to his advantage.” John hummed in agreement. Both men looked at Sherlock with fond expressions.   
“Breakfast?” John asked after a moment, knowing when to admit defeat.   
“Yeah. You think the smell of breakfast will wake him up?”  
“Let’s find out.” John gently extricated himself from Sherlock’s grasp, easing himself off the bed. Greg hoisted himself up off the ground and stretched, letting out a quiet groan of contentment as his joints popped and cracked. John threw a dressing gown at Greg and put one on as well. They quietly exited the bedroom and went hand in hand to the kitchen, where John went straight to the kettle and Greg went to the fridge, opening it up and peering inside.   
“Pancakes?” Greg asked after a moment.   
“Sure,” John agreed easily, pulling down three mugs and dropping tea bags into each one. He stood contently beside the kettle as he waited for it to boil, watching as Greg puttered around and gathered all the ingredients needed for pancakes. He quickly whipped up the batter while John poured the teas and doctored them up to the individual preferences. Just as he finished Greg started pouring batter onto the sizzling griddle, and the kitchen started quickly filling with the aroma of baking batter and freshly steeped tea. Both men took a moment to enjoy the domesticity and sense of home that currently enveloped them. Reaching out, John wrapped his arms around Greg from behind and buried his head between Greg’s shoulder blades. He took a deep breath and squeezed tighter as Greg wrapped his arms firmly over top of John’s.   
“This is nice,” Greg said after a moment, loosening John’s arms so that he could turn and lean against the counter, drawing John to his front.   
“Yeah,” John murmured into Greg’s dressing gown. They stayed still for a couple of minutes, drinking each other in. “You should probably flip the pancakes now,” John commented, pulling away from Greg with a soft smile. Greg smiled back and squeezed John’s hand before turning and flipping the pancakes, revealing a dark brown side.   
‘Whoops, let those go a little too long,” he chuckled, looking at John.   
“Worth it,” John replied.  
“Definitely.”  
Greg quickly finished making the rest of the pancakes, and piled them all on a plate.  
“Time to wake His Royal Highness?” John asked with an evil grin.  
“Oh yes.”  
They both quietly crept to the bedroom, peering in to see Sherlock still sound asleep on the bed. Making eye contact, they both grinned and John counted down from three on his fingers. When he reached one, they both leapt onto the bed, smothering Sherlock.   
“Agh! What-?” Sherlock was cut off by Greg taking his mouth in a gentle kiss.   
“Oi!” John exclaimed after a moment, tickling Sherlock relentlessly on the sides. “I want my kisses too!”   
Sherlock laughed helplessly, ripping his lips away from Greg’s and trying to push at John’s hands. Greg joined John, tickling Sherlock as well as he tried in vain to catch his breath.  
“Stop, stop!” Sherlock cried, tears running down his face. His laughter was contagious, and both John and Greg stopped, collapsing on either side of him and laughing helplessly. Their laughter died down slowly, and they all started raptly at each other in the silence.   
“Good morning,” John whispered to Sherlock, wiping a remaining tear from his cheek and kissing him softly. Sherlock turned towards him as the kiss deepened, snaking his hand onto John’s hip. Greg fit himself to Sherlock’s back, laying one hand on Sherlock’s hip while the other one played with his hair. The kiss ended with a sweet nip to Sherlock’s lower lip, and Sherlock breathed a quiet sigh.   
“Do I smell pancakes?”


	3. Greg's way of coping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets hurt on a case and Greg reacts... passionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, there is smut ahead. If that's not your cup of tea, it's only a part in the middle that you could probably skip over. In this universe Sherlock is asexual, so he does not partake in the sexual activities.

“Get him in the lock up and then head home, Sally,” Greg said tensely, nodding at the cuffed man that she held. “I’m going to take these two home and we’ll be dealing with the paperwork tomorrow.”  
Sherlock’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to protest but was quickly cut off by Greg.  
“No,” he said menacingly, pointing at Sherlock and then pointing at his police car. Sherlock, knowing when he was beat, turned with his nose in the air, his haughtiness ruined by his need to lean on John as they made their way to the police car. Greg quickly dismissed the rest of his team and stalked to his police car, where Sherlock was sulking with his legs hanging out the back door, John leaning over him and checking the cut on his forehead. “John, in the front,” was all Greg said, getting into the driver’s side. John didn’t argue- he knew when Greg was in this mood, it was best to do what he said.  
“I’m not a criminal,” Sherlock muttered from the back as Greg pulled away from the crime scene.   
“Quiet,” Greg said roughly, not looking back. The rest of the ride was tensely silent, no one daring to say anything. When they arrived at 221B, Greg parked the car and went to unlock the door, leaving John to fish Sherlock out of the back and help him to the door. Once John and Sherlock had made it to the door, Greg silently slung his arm around Sherlock’s back. He was angry, but not angry enough to make John haul Sherlock’s lanky form up the stairs by himself. There was a bit of struggle, and Sherlock’s silent compliance let Greg know he was starting to feel guilty. Good.   
When the door had clicked shut behind them, Greg spun around to face Sherlock, caging him between his body and the door. Their faces were only inches apart. “Do you know how worried I was?” he said in a dangerously low voice. John backed up a step, keeping close but giving Greg room to do what he needed to. “When I watched you drop from the second-floor fire escape, saw your ankle twist as you fell, and then watched that loon come at you with a knife? It is thanks only to the grace of God and John Watson that you aren’t more hurt. You are so lucky John followed after you like he always does, because he loves you, because we love you, and took that idiot out before he could cut more than your forehead. Christ.” Greg lunged forward, hands wrapping around the back of Sherlock’s head as he crashed their lips together. “Do not risk yourself like that again,” Greg said between hard kisses. “You are more important than any criminal we could ever chase.” Greg, needing to feel Sherlock’s heart beating, fumbled open the first few buttons on his shirt. John, unable to resist the magnetic pull anymore, surged forward and plastered himself to Greg’s back, nipping and worrying the skin at his neck. He started trying to undo Greg’s buttons from behind, fumbling and groping Greg’s chest. Greg hummed low in his throat in response.   
“Bed,” Greg growled, shifting so that he could place himself on one side of Sherlock, John on the other. They quickly manhandled him into the bedroom on the main floor, Greg throwing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him. He attacked Sherlock’s mouth once more, fingers quickly undoing the rest of Sherlock’s buttons. He slid the shirt off Sherlock, working each arm out of the sleeves. He then put both wrists in one hand and held them above Sherlock’s head. John had one leg on the bed and was running his hands down Sherlock’s now bare chest, feeling the heat of life radiating off him. It was assurance as much as it was arousing, seeing the yards of unblemished, unhurt skin stretched before him. Greg and John’s hands tangled over top of Sherlock’s heart, digging the pads of their combined fingers into the muscle above his heart- another assurance that he was very much alive.   
With both men above him, Sherlock was feeling caged in. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, but it was present. With his hands trapped, Sherlock felt vulnerable. And maybe that was part of the point. He was here, at the mercy of his lovers where only an hour earlier he had been at the mercy of an attacker. He trusted John and Greg infinitely more than a stranger, but there was still a trill of nervousness that ran through him when his lovers surrounded him.   
Greg was slowly moving his hand southward, kneading the flesh under it as he went. When he reached the waistband of Sherlock’s pants, he slid the tips of his fingers inside, letting them sit there for a moment. Sherlock’s breath caught in his chest. At that moment John laid a kiss on Sherlock’s shoulder and, although it was an innately innocent gesture, it pushed Sherlock over the edge.   
Sherlock ripped his lips away from Greg’s. “Yellow,” he panted, closing his eyes tightly. John and Greg immediately drew away, giving Sherlock space.   
“Sorry love,” Greg panted, voice rough. “I got carried away. That was my bad.” Greg clenched his hand at his side. They used the traffic-light system for moments like these. Sherlock was asexual; although he sometimes engaged with John and Greg in the bedroom, the most sexual activity he had ever partaken in was helping jerk them off. He rarely touched himself or had others touch him sexually- there was no urge, no desire towards that. He loved his partners, that much was without a doubt true. But he just didn’t have the same urges as them, which they understood and were very accommodating about.   
“What would you like? Do you want us to stop?” John asked him softly.   
“I’d like to watch you two, for a bit,” Sherlock said. “And take it from there.”  
“No problem,” Greg said, running to the chair they kept in the room for this kind of arrangement. It was one of their more common agreements. Greg placed the chair beside the bed, positioning it so Sherlock could watch them. Then he went to Sherlock and scooped him up bridal style, carrying him the few steps to the chair.   
“I’m fine,” Sherlock said with no fire, “no need to carry me like a damsel in distress.”  
“But you are my damsel in distress,” Greg said, smiling at him and kissing him gently on the forehead. “Enjoy the show, and let us know if you need anything. And I mean anything,” arousal was warring with concern as Greg made his way towards the bed, not breaking eye contact with Sherlock.  
“Brute,” Sherlock mumbled fondly, placing his uninjured foot on the seat and wrapping his arms around his bent leg. If he was being honest with himself, he enjoyed watching his lovers more than he enjoyed being under them. The way Greg looked at John from beneath his eyebrows, positively stalking towards him as he crawled up the bed towards John. The way he took John’s lips between his own, kissing him like a man drowning. Sherlock watched as Greg dominated John, grabbing his hands and pinning them above his head like he had just done to Sherlock. Switching John’s wrists to one hand, Greg used the other to quickly undo all the buttons John’s shirt.   
“Off,” he growled, releasing John’s wrists. John leaned forward, capturing Greg’s lips in his own and showing off his strength as he took off his shirt, staying in a sit-up position to keep his mouth on Greg’s. “I love when you show off,” Greg said, grinning as pushed John back down and quickly slid off his trousers and pants. John was already hard, and he sighed as his length was released from its cloth confines.   
Sherlock noted that Greg was moving fast, belying his eagerness. Greg wasted no time in stripping off his clothes, digging the lube from their bedside table and slicking his fingers up.   
“On all four,” Greg told John, who eagerly presented himself on hands and knees for Greg. This was always one of Sherlock’s favourite parts. It was the combination of care and desperation that showed on Greg’s face as he carefully prepared John, opening him up one finger at a time and constantly checking in with him, peppering small kisses to his lower back and touching every inch of skin available with the hand that wasn’t buried between his cheeks. It was John’s head hanging between his shoulders, his hands twisting the sheets underneath him as he was stretched more. He writhed back, trying to drive Greg’s fingers deeper.   
“More,” he grunted, pushing back farther.  
“Pushy,” Greg growled appreciatively, nipping at the top of his butt cheek. John huffed out a laugh, flailing one hand behind him to try and grab Greg’s hand to move it faster. “Alright, alright,” Greg chuckled, pushing his hand away. Pulling his hand out, Greg lubed up his cock and lined it up, pushing in slowly. John groaned in ecstasy, head dropping even lower as Greg bottomed out. “Thank god,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now move!”  
Greg smacked John’s lower thigh. “Be nice,” he said, but Sherlock could tell he was desperate to move. Carefully, he pulled partially out and pushed back in, earning another groan of approval from John. He started up a rhythm, pulling out almost all the way and plunging back in. John encouraged him verbally, a litany of yeses and mores and harders falling from his mouth between strokes. Sherlock felt his heart open up and overflow as he watched the two men he loved irrevocably be so intimate. Getting up from the chair, Sherlock hopped to the bed on one foot. When Greg noticed him approaching, he stilled, curious as to what Sherlock was going to do. Sherlock moved down the bed, using the edge to support himself, and kissed Greg. Then, he made his way back up the bed and weaseled his way under John, looping his hands behind John’s neck and meeting him for a kiss. After a moment he pulled away and craned his neck to look at Greg.  
“Continue,” he said, fusing his lips back to John’s. With that, it was not long before Greg could feel himself nearing the edge; the wet, hot heat of John wrapped around his cock and the visual of Sherlock and John making out was enough to push him there quickly.   
“I’m close,” Greg said.   
“Me too,” John gasped, both as a warning to Sherlock and to Greg. Sherlock drew John back to him, keeping one hand wrapped around in his neck and running the other one down John’s chest. He took one nipple in his hand, pinching and worrying it. With a gasp and a shout John came, burying his head in Sherlock’s neck as he panted through his release. Greg was quick to follow, John’s spasms around his cock driving him to his own orgasm. They all lay there for a moment before Sherlock wrinkled his nose and pushed John a little bit off him.   
“Gross,” he said, looking down at his trousers and torso that were striped with John’s come.   
“Sorry, love,” John chuckled. “But you did bring it on yourself when you put yourself under me. Also, I warned you.”  
“I know, I know,” Sherlock said as Greg pulled out of John, falling down beside Sherlock while John slumped to the other side. “Don’t get comfortable, we’re all washing off,” he told them.   
“Sure,” Greg said, throwing his arm around Sherlock’s waist.   
“You are literally smearing your arm in John’s come,” Sherlock said, wincing at the cold sticky mess on his stomach.  
“Yup,” Greg sighed, nuzzling closer to Sherlock.   
“No, no, no sleeping,” Sherlock said, patting Greg’s head and pushing his face out from his neck.   
Greg groaned. “Boo,” he mumbled, but obediently rolled so he was sitting up. “We’re cuddling once we’re cleaned,” Greg declared.  
“Of course,” Sherlock said, scooting to the edge of the bed and allowing Greg to support him on the way to the bathroom, John following behind them. Greg deposited him on the closed toilet seat, filling the sink with hot water and grabbing a flannel.   
“Can you grab the first aid kit from under the sink?” John asked Greg, moving so he was on Sherlock’s other side, perched on the edge of the tub.   
“Yup,” Greg said, digging it out and handing it to John. John opened it and perched it on the edge of the tub. He grabbed an antiseptic wipe, cleaning the cut on Sherlock’s forehead. Meanwhile, Greg quickly wiped his cock, belly and arm off, rinsing the flannel to wash Sherlock.   
“We probably should’ve done this before we got all gross and sweaty,” John said.  
“Like Greg was going to let us do anything before we got gross and sweaty,” Sherlock smirked, wincing as Greg rubbed the flannel along his stomach.   
“Damn straight,” he said. “And don’t think I’m not still mad at you, you bugger.”  
“At least I’m not a horny bastard,” Sherlock smirked again.   
“Yes, well there’s no denying you there,” Greg said, chuckling. “Now, I’m going to need you to take your trousers off.”   
“Aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?” Sherlock asked.  
“Why am I living with a pair of teenage babies?” John asked as he finished wiping Sherlock’s cut.   
“Because you love us,” Greg said simply.  
“True,” John said. “You are going to need to take off the trousers, though, love. I’ll need to take a look at your foot.”  
“Fine,” Sherlock huffed, slipping out of his trousers.   
“Thank you,” John said, backing up so that he could place Sherlock’s foot in his lap.  
“Yeah, thank you,” Greg said, leering at Sherlock.  
“You just came, you can’t be horny already,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at Greg.  
“Nah, I just like teasing you,” Greg answered, tenderly cupping Sherlock’s face in one of his hands and kissing him slowly. Sherlock sunk into the kiss, but pulled away with a hiss of pain a moment later.  
“Ow,” he said petulantly towards John.   
“Yes, that’s what happens when you go jumping off buildings without knowing how to land properly. You get hurt.” John glared at Sherlock as he felt around his ankle a little more. “Thankfully, it is just a sprain though.” He started wrapping the ankle in a tenser bandage. “You’ll have to stay off that for a few days,” John said when he had finished.  
“Right,” Sherlock said.  
“And don’t ignore me about that. I will strap you to the bed if I have to.”  
“Will you strap me, too?” Greg asked.  
“Right, time for bed,” John said, ignoring Greg and rolling his eyes as he packed up the first aid kit and put it under the counter. John put his arm around Sherlock’s waist, walking him back towards the bedroom. Greg followed him out of the bathroom and went to the hall closet, grabbing a fresh set of sheets. Meanwhile, John stripped the bed after depositing Sherlock in the chair by the bed. Throwing the soiled sheets in the hamper, he helped Greg put the new sheets on the bed.   
“Okay, now it’s time for bed,” Greg said, diving face first into the clean sheets, still naked as the day he was born.   
“A couple of teenage babies,” John reiterated as Sherlock hopped to the bed and plunked down beside Greg. Putting on a pair of pants and turning out the lights, John got into bed on the other side of Sherlock.  
“Sorry,” Sherlock said into the silence after a moment.   
Greg sighed from his other side. “I understand why you did it. I brought you on the case, so I shouldn’t expect anything less. I just got scared, is all,” Greg said.  
“Me too,” John said. “We just have very different ways of showing it.”  
“Yes, you jump the bad guys while Greg jumps us,” Sherlock said.  
“Git,” Greg murmured fondly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock so that he was spooning him.   
“Horny bastard,” Sherlock whispered back, tucking one hand under his head and drawing John to his front with the other. John slung his arm over top of both Sherlock and Greg, kissing Sherlock on the nose.   
“Babies,” he said softly. “Goodnight, loves.”  
“Goodnight.”


	4. Sick babies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off this prompt:  
> http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/150532192107/person-a-and-person-b-are-rivals-who-like-to-get
> 
> Person A and Person B are rivals who like to get in each other’s space a little more than they should. One day, when Person A has the flu, they accidentally infect Person B. Person B now blames Person A for getting them sick, and forces Person A to take care of them.  
> Bonus: Person C is not sick and has to break up all of their fights while tending to their needs.

Sherlock had the flu. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, John had instated a no-touching, three-foot-radius rule so that they didn’t end with three sick inhabitants in the flat. This meant no after-case cuddles for Sherlock, no morning kisses and no sleeping in the bed. Inevitably the flat had turned into something of a warzone, and it had only been two days.   
“You probably shouldn’t even be on this case, really,” Greg said, crossing his arms and watching Sherlock from his position on the outskirts of the crime scene. They were at a flat a few blocks away from Baker Street, a man with an obvious gunshot wound to the chest sprawled on his front.   
“I’m fine,” Sherlock snapped, glaring from his position on the floor. The coughing fit that followed revealed his lie but Greg decided to let it slide for now.   
“What have you figured out so far?” Greg asked.   
“He was a writer and was working in the house when a stray bullet flew through the open window and hit him in the chest. An unfortunate casualty of the shooting that happened three days ago. He was only found because of the smell, correct?”  
“Yeah, he lived alone so there was no one to notice he had been shot.”   
“Hmmm, well I think that you can figure out the rest on your own. I’m going back to the flat.” Sherlock would never admit it, but he was starting to feel the effects of whatever disease had taken over his body. He was feeling lightheaded and exhausted, his nose wouldn’t stop dripping and it felt like he had swallowed sandpaper. He was going to lie down once he made it to the flat- it would make John happy, which would mean extra-sweet tea for him. A win-win situation, in his opinion.   
“Take a nap when you get there, would you?” Greg asked.  
“I don’t nap,” Sherlock said testily, heading for the door of the flat they were currently in.   
“Sure,” Greg said, keeping his distance but shooting a sympathetic look at Sherlock.   
Just as Sherlock was reaching for the door handle the door swung violently inward, prompting Sherlock to rear back. A furious John stormed through the door and straight into Sherlock’s personal space.   
“I told you no,” John said without preamble, face inches from Sherlock’s. “I said no cases for at least a week. Bed rest and fluids, I said, and you go out like it’s no big deal. Like you aren’t just about ready to pass out right now.”  
“I was about to return to the flat,” Sherlock said weakly.   
“After being sick and surrounded by dead people.”  
“It’s one body, I’m hardly surrounded,” Sherlock scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.”  
“Oh, I’ll show you dramatic,” John said menacingly. “And you-“ John spun and pointed at Greg.  
“I thought he had your okay,” Greg said, holding up his hands in a placating manner.   
John hummed, unimpressed. “We’ll see you back at the flat,” was all he said, taking Sherlock by the arm.   
“I should be home at my regular time. See you in a few.”   
With that, John turned and stalked out of the flat, Sherlock’s fingers interlaced with his own. 

Greg arrived to the flat a few hours later, opening the door and peaking in. He was met with the sight of Sherlock curled on the couch with his head in John’s lap. Sherlock was fast asleep.   
“How is he?” Greg whispered as he hung his coat up.   
“Still sick,” John whispered back. “Getting worse, I think.” John carefully laid a hand on Sherlock’s forehead. “He started burning up about an hour ago. When he wakes up, I’ll get him to take a paracetamol and see about getting some fluids into him.”  
“I’ll start making some soup. Do we have orange juice?”  
“We stopped at the tesco on our way home to pick some up.”  
“Smart man,” Greg said, moving into the kitchen.   
“Doctor,” John rebutted softly.   
By the time Greg was done making the soup, Sherlock had woken up and had taken a paracetamol under duress. Greg brought the three bowls of soup out and put them on the table, looking pointedly at Sherlock.  
“Eat,” he said, pointing at the soup. He sat down in the chair that was pulled up to the coffee table.   
“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock whined, wrapping his arms around his torso. “I’m cold.” He glared at John as if it was his fault.   
“That’s because you’re running a fever,” John said with no mercy. “Here, wrap up in this.” John pulled a thick fuzzy blanket off the back of the sofa and draped it around Sherlock, tucking it snugly around him. “Now eat your soup.”  
“But John,” Sherlock whined, lower lip sticking out.   
“At least half,” John said relentlessly.  
“Fine, but if I die from over-nourishment, it’s your fault.”  
“I don’t think that will be an issue,” Greg said, laughing. He was already halfway through his own bowl of soup. John sat beside Sherlock on the sofa and picked up his own bowl, spooning soup into his mouth. Sherlock reluctantly leaned forward, blanket still draped around him, and picked up his bowl. He steadily ate half the bowl before putting it down.  
“Half,” he said. He leaned back into the sofa, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.   
“Good job, love,” John said, standing at taking both his and Sherlock’s bowls. “Drink your orange juice and I’ll bring out tea and water for you.”   
Sherlock picked up his glass of orange juice. “Sweet tea?” he asked, wiping his nose with the edge of the blanket.   
“Sure. Greg, can you grab a box of tissues for Sherlock?”  
“Yup,” Greg picked up his bowl and brought it to the kitchen, then moved to the closet to grab a box. He dropped it on the coffee table in front of Sherlock, who was now curled miserably on his side on the sofa. “John’ll be out in a minute,” he said soothingly, sitting on the sofa but keeping his distance from Sherlock.   
Sherlock humphed in response.   
John came out with the two drinks in hand and placed them carefully on the coffee table.   
“There you go, love,” John lifted Sherlock’s head and sat down on the sofa, placing Sherlock’s head back in his lap.   
“Has the no-touching ban been lifted, then?” Greg asked, looking pointedly at Sherlock’s head in John’s lap.   
“For now,” John said, running his hand through Sherlock’s hair. “Because he looks so pitiful.”  
“Do not,” Sherlock mumbled, already half asleep.  
“Of course not,” John chuckled. “Now go to sleep, love.”

***************************

Two days later, and Greg was stuck with two sick babies. John had woken that morning with a sore throat and persistent cough, and things had only deteriorated from there.   
Greg had called him and John in sick for the next couple of days and had quarantined Sherlock and John to the sofa. Now he was stuck trying to take care of his sick lovers.   
“Tell him he can’t have all the blanket!” John said, yanking the blanket towards his chest. He and Sherlock were laid head to toe, side by side.   
“Well neither can you!” Sherlock cried, trying to pull the blanket more towards him.   
“You both need to share like good boys.”  
“We’re not children,” Sherlock mumbled.  
“You could have fooled me,” Greg said. “I’m going to go get another blanket from the closet. You two behave.” Greg went into the hall to grab a blanket and when he returned, Sherlock had the blanket cocooned around himself. John was lying on his side, shivering.  
“Jeez, Sherlock, you couldn’t have shared for a few more seconds?”  
“I knew you were coming back with a blanket for John,” Sherlock said dismissively.   
“Well, for that John gets a nice, new, non-germy blanket and an extra cup of tea.”  
“Yay,” John cheered gently, wrapping his blanket around himself. He was already nodding off to sleep.   
“No sleeping until you take a paracetamol,” Greg said. He went to the kitchen to fix John a cup of tea and grab a glass of water and two paracetamol. Moving quickly back into the living room, he placed the mug on the table and stood beside John’s head, holding out the glass and paracetamol. “Take one,” Greg said. John sighed but propped himself up, quickly taking one pill and drinking half the glass. “Now you,” Greg said, moving to Sherlock. Sherlock reached for the pill and took it, finishing off the glass of water. “Now both of you sleep. I don’t want to hear a peep for at least an hour.”  
“Yes, Greg,” they both chorused. 

Greg had gone to bed alone, and had managed to get a few hours of sleep. He was abruptly woken, however, by the sound of John and Sherlock bickering in the sitting room. Sighing, Greg ran his hand over his face and threw the sheets off, getting out of bed and moving reluctantly into the sitting room.   
“No, it’s my turn to choose what we watch!” John said, holding the remote out of Sherlock’s reach. He was lying down on one end of the sofa, Sherlock sitting up on the other end. “We just watched your documentary on bees.”  
“Yes, and did you not learn from it?”  
“No, I slept through most of it! And just because it’s educational doesn’t mean you also get to choose the next show. That doesn’t even make sense!” John stuck the remote under him to keep Sherlock from getting it. Not that that would stop Sherlock. Diving forward, Sherlock pressed his hand into John’s chest, pinning him down, and reached underneath John’s bum to dig out the remote.  
“Ugh, get out of there,” John said, one hand reaching for the hand on his chest and the other reaching for the hand rooting around underneath him. “It’s my turn, fair and square!” John stuck his tongue out at Sherlock, pushing him bodily away.   
“You leave me no choice,” Sherlock said primly, leaning over and tickling John relentlessly. John squawked and tried to worm away, peals of laughter falling from his lips.   
“No fair!” John cried, trying in vain to push Sherlock off him again. “Get off me, you nutter,” he said between gasps of laughter.   
“Not until you give me the remote,” Sherlock said, now straddling John.   
“Never!” Changing tactics, John reached for Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down, snogging him senseless.   
Greg watched them from the doorway, shaking his head. “Oy,” he said when John started moving his hand towards Sherlock’s chest. “If I’m not allowed to snog you, your not allowed to snog each other.”   
John pulled away and grinned at Greg. “Sorry mate, it was the only way I was going to win this.”  
“Cheater,” Sherlock mumbled, flopping down so that he was completely on top of John, head resting on John’s chest.   
“Not cheating, just being smart,” John said to the top of Sherlock’s head. “You know, you really should be the one taking care of me since you got me sick.”  
“You have no proof that I got you sick,” Sherlock said.   
“Well, I wasn’t sick, and then I got close to you while you were sick, and then I got sick. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.” John ran his hand down Sherlock’s back.   
“I’m still sick, so I am excused from any blame.”  
“I’m not sure that’s how that works, but I’m too tired to keep on with you,” John said. “You should give poor Greg a break, though. He’s been caring for us very diligently.”  
“I have been nothing but charming,” Sherlock said, throwing a fake smile Greg’s way.   
“Agree to disagree,” Greg said, approaching the sofa. “Why don’t you go make us some tea, Sherlock. Getting on your feet for a bit will do you good.”  
“Fine,” Sherlock huffed, getting off John and stalking to the kitchen. Greg sat down in the chair beside the sofa, leaning over and running his hand through John’s hair.   
“How are you doing?” he asked John.   
“Sick and tired of being sick and tired,” John answered. “I think I’m still running a fever and there has been more fluids coming out of my nose than I thought humanly possible. Also my throat is drier than a desert.”  
Greg hummed sympathetically. “That’s tough. Anything I can do to help?”   
“I would say cuddle me, but I’m afraid you might get sick.”  
“Honestly, I think that if I was going to catch whatever flu you both have I would have by now. It’s probably safe for me to cuddle.” Saying so, Greg clambered onto the couch and lifted John up, swinging him so he was sitting sideways in Greg’s lap. Greg made sure that John stayed wrapped securely in his blanket while being shifted around.  
“I’m not a child,” John mumbled into Greg’s neck.  
“Don’t need to be a child to cuddle,” Greg said, holding John tighter.  
“Hm, sure,” John said, sighing into Greg’s neck. “I hate being sick.”  
“What, and everyone else enjoy it?” Greg joked.   
“Whatever,” John said dismissively.   
They were interrupted by Sherlock entering the room, three mugs balanced in his hands. Seeing the two cuddling on the sofa, he looked momentarily insulted before swanning over to the sofa and plunking the mugs down. Without saying a word Sherlock crawled onto the sofa, plastering himself to Greg and John’s sides.  
“I would like cuddles, too,” Sherlock said, fitting himself into every nook and cranny he could find.   
“Okay, okay, you great beanpole,” John said, pushing Sherlock out of their space so that they could figure out a way to cuddle with all three of them.   
“Why don’t we take our tea and go up to bed?” Greg asked.  
“But it’s only three in the afternoon,” Sherlock said, his protest undermined by a yawn that practically split his jaw.   
“Well, I think that yawn settles it,” Greg said. “You’re both still recovering and need to be in bed. Come on, let’s go,” Greg let John clamber off him before standing and grabbing his and John’s teas. Sherlock grabbed his own and all three of them moved into the bedroom, Sherlock flopping down gracelessly onto the bed after putting his mug on the side table. John and Greg were quick to follow, all three climbing in and curling around one another. They lay in silence occasionally broken by quiet comments until both John and Sherlock were sound asleep, Greg keeping a watchful eye over both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, if you have any prompts/ideas you want to see, comment them please! I love this trio and will never give them up.


	5. Their first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the relationship forms. Based off the prompt:   
> Imagine Person A and Person B are in a relationship, and Person C has been struggling for years because they’re in love with both of them. One night, Person C confesses that they love them and begs them not to be weirded out by them and that they’ve loved them forever.  
> Bonus: Person A and Person B turn out to be polyamorous and in love with them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's more of a prequel chapter. I thought I was done with this fic after last chapter but I think it will be a continuous one-shot drop zone, so keep your eyes peeled!

Sherlock and John had been in a relationship for a month and although it was an advantage on cases, it was driving Greg crazy. Watching them giggle and titter more than they had previously, and noticing the small touches from Sherlock, the fond expression on John’s face as he listened to Sherlock verbally tear apart a room. He craved those looks, those touches, and he specifically craved them from those two.   
They were on day four a particularly difficult case, and it was starting to take its toll. Greg and John were getting run off their feet and Sherlock had passed snippy and was starting to get downright bitchy.   
“Maybe you’re missing something, mate?”   
“I do not miss things, you miss things. That’s why you need my help,” Sherlock snapped at Greg.   
“Okay, okay.”  
“Do you know where the brother is?” Sherlock asked.   
“There’s no brother,” Greg told him.   
“Yes there is,” Sherlock said. “He doesn’t live in this house, obviously. Find his residence. He may have already run, so I’ll come along and tell you where he’s gone.”  
One phone call to New Scotland Yard and an address later, Greg was pulling up to a house, a cab containing Sherlock and John pulling in behind him. Greg made his way to the front door and knocked.   
“He’s not there,” Sherlock said as he and John strolled up behind him.   
“Police!” Greg called, knocking on the door again and ignoring Sherlock.   
“I told you, he’s not-“  
The door opened to reveal a tall, brunette man.   
“Can I help you?” he asked, looking at Greg.  
“Are you James Dolland?” Greg asked.  
“Yes, why?”  
“You’re under arrest for the murder of your sister,” Greg started, reaching forward. James scrambled backwards and closed the front door. Growling, Greg launched forward and threw the door open, quickly catching James and throwing him on the ground.   
He read him his rights as he hauled him up and out of the house.   
“You were wrong,” Greg grunted to Sherlock as he passed them.  
“I’m never wrong,” Sherlock said, following Greg.   
“You just were,” John rebutted. “Greg, want to come to ours for a beer?”  
Greg looked at John for a moment, conflict warring inside of him. On the one hand, he should get James processed and taken in but on the other hand the desire burning in his gut was pushing him towards beer with John and Sherlock.   
“Yeah, alright,” he said after a moment. “Sally, get this one checked in for the night and then go home. We’ll finish the paperwork tomorrow.”  
“Right, boss,” she said, loading James into the back of the panda car. “See you tomorrow.”  
“Bye, Sal. Thanks.”  
Greg walked over to John and Sherlock, hands firmly in his pockets.   
“Call us a cab, Sherlock?” John asked.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes but raised his arm, magically conjuring a cab for them. They piled in, Greg taking the front seat. The ride to the flat was quiet and quick. When they got there, Greg paid and followed the other two into the flat.   
“Do you have a preference of what you’re drinking?” John asked from the kitchen.   
“As long as it’s alcoholic and hoppy, I’m happy,” Greg said, grinning at his poor word play and placing his jacket on the back of a chair.   
“That was deplorable,” Sherlock said, flopping down onto the sofa.   
“Really, it was,” John said, coming back into the room with three beers.   
Greg took his with a thanks, taking a drag from it. The three of them talked, time slipping by as their beers got lower and lower. John and Greg relentlessly ribbed Sherlock, giggling as he got more and more worked up.   
“We’re only teasing,” John chuckled to Sherlock as he finished the dregs of his beer. “Another?” he asked Greg.  
“Yeah, mate, ta,” Greg said. John brought their empty bottles to the kitchen and returned with three fresh ones, sitting back down on the sofa. As Greg took a sip of his beer he watched John take a sip of his own, focusing on where his lips met the bottle. Pulling his mouth away from the bottle, Greg bit his bottom lip as he tore his eyes away from John’s lips.   
“So Greg,” John started when he caught Greg’s eye. “We didn’t just invite you here for a couple of beers. Sherlock and I, we’ve noticed lately the way you look at us.”  
Greg felt his face heat up at being caught out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quickly, breaking eye contact.   
“Please, you’re a terrible liar,” Sherlock scoffed from beside John.   
“No really, I don’t mean to stare,” Greg said, looking at both men. They both looked unimpressed. Greg sighed, hiding his face behind one hand. “Look, don’t be weirded out, okay?” he peered over his fingers at John and Sherlock. “But I think I might… be in love with you?”   
“Which one of us, Greg?” John asked, face neutral.  
“Both?”  
John let a small grin slip past his neutral mask. “How long?”  
“Forever, it feels like,” Greg said carefully, watching both men for more of a reaction. John’s small smile encouraged him to continue. “Since I’ve known the both of you, for sure. I think I’ve loved Sherlock from the moment I saw him.”  
“Me too,” John said softly, looking over and grabbing Sherlock’s hand.   
“This is too weird,” Greg said, lowering his hand and taking another pull from his beer. “How are you both not freaking out right now?”  
“We’ve been talking,” John started, looking back at Greg.   
“We are both drawn to you, in our own ways,” Sherlock finished bluntly.  
“Wait, what?”  
“Smooth,” John mumbled under his breath. “Sherlock is asexual,” John explained. “So although he’s not sexually attracted to you, he is on an emotional level.”   
Greg nodded. He had suspected Sherlock wasn’t sexually active.  
“I, on the other hand, am physically and emotionally attracted to you.” John locked eyes with Greg once more. Greg could see the heat in his eyes and swallowed thickly.   
“Okay,” Greg said hoarsely. Suddenly it seemed like there wasn’t enough air in the flat.   
John stood up slowly, putting his beer on the table. “Greg, can I kiss you?” he asked, slowly approaching Greg’s chair.   
“Okay,” Greg said again, putting his beer on the table in front of him. It felt like they were simultaneously moving too quickly and not quickly enough. John reached the chair and put his hands on the arms, caging Greg in. Leaning in, he put his face close to Greg’s for a moment, just holding there. Then, he closed the distance, brushing his lips teasingly over Greg’s before attacking his mouth. Greg closed his eyes, sinking into the cushions and enjoying the feeling of one of John’s hands slipping to the back of his neck. They stayed like that for a few moments more before Greg pulled away. He noticed Sherlock watching them from his perch on the sofa, and felt self-conscious.   
“Don’t worry about him,” John said, smiling down at Greg.   
“Don’t you find it weird, though?” Greg asked both of them.  
“No,” Sherlock shrugged. “Although I may not be engaging physically, I am engaging emotionally.”  
Greg looked between John and Sherlock, trying to puzzle out exactly how the situation would work.   
“There is entirely too much thinking going on in that head,” John murmured, leaning down and capturing Greg’s lips once more. Greg allowed himself to be kissed, sinking into it. He felt John’s hands snake into his hair and grabbed onto John’s hips. When Greg felt a third hand settle on his shoulder, he pulled away slightly. Looking up he made eye contact with Sherlock, who was now towering over them, one hand on each of their shoulders.   
“You don’t have to-“ Greg started.  
“No, but I want to. I probably won’t do much more than this tonight, though,” Sherlock said.  
“Okay,” Greg agreed, slightly appeased. It seemed less like they were excluding Sherlock this way. He turned back towards John, who surged forward and grabbed Greg by the hips, kissing him before moving to undo his belt.   
“This okay?” John asked.   
“More than,” Greg said, groaning when John dropped to his knees. John efficiently got Greg’s trousers open and pushed them and his pants down to his thighs. Greg’s cock sprang free and John wrapped his lips around the head. Greg felt his eyes roll back into his head and he reached desperately for the hand on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, Greg made eye contact with Sherlock. He looked deep into Sherlock’s eyes and he saw an affection that he hadn’t seen in Sherlock’s eyes before. Sherlock kept him steady as he got closer and closer to orgasm and as he spilled into John’s mouth, he hung on tight to Sherlock’s hand.   
Greg sat panting, head thrown back in pleasure. “Holy shit that was good,” Greg said, voice shaky.   
“Glad to hear,” John said with a light chuckle.  
“Here, let me do you,” Greg said, moving forward as if to get on his knees.   
“Just stay there,” John said, clambering up so that he was kneeling on either side of Greg’s thighs. “I just want your hand.”  
“I can do that,” Greg said. He tried to pry his hand out of Sherlock’s.   
“Do you need both hands?” Sherlock asked.  
“Not unless John’s packing a surprise in there,” Greg grinned. John rolled his eyes.  
“Well then I’d like to keep this hand,” Sherlock said, laying a quick kiss on it.  
“Yeah, okay,” Greg said fondly, squeezing Sherlock’s hand.  
It didn’t take long for Greg to get John off and soon they were both panting in the chair, Sherlock’s hands on both of their backs.   
“What now?” Greg asked shakily.   
“Sleep?” John asked.  
“Sure, but not quite what I meant,” Greg chuckled, burying his nose into the crook of John’s neck.   
“Dates?” John asked. “With the three of us?”  
“Not always culminating in sex,” Sherlock added on.  
“No, of course not,” Greg said quickly. “Although, fair warning, I can be a pretty randy bloke.”  
“Sounds alright to me,” John grinned.  
“As long as you don’t get offended when I don’t always stay in the same room,” Sherlock said.  
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Greg said.  
“And we take it slow,” John said.  
“You consider this slow?” Greg asked.  
“Well, as slow as we can manage,” John chuckled. “Slow by our standards.”  
“Okay,” Greg said, nodding.   
“Shall we clean the both of you up now?” Sherlock asked.   
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” John said.  
“Sleep here tonight?” Sherlock asked Greg.  
“Of course,” Greg said.   
“In our bed?” Sherlock questioned again.  
“Of course,” Greg repeated. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”


	6. The Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt “We all assumed someone else was going to call the plumber so now the three of us are down to one shower and now I realize why our water bill is so high you take forEVER DEAR GOD”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something I wrote to distract myself from the end-of-term stress. Enjoy!

“Sherlock!”  
John was banging on the bathroom door, legs inching closer together.   
“What?” came the muffled reply. The sound of the shower drowned the annoyed huff that John let out.   
“You’ve been in there for an hour and I have to use the loo. How much longer are you going to be?”  
“Use the one in C!” They had recently rented out the other unit in the building, turning it into a combination lab/Sherlock’s bathroom/cool-down room for when any of them needed their own space.  
“You mean the one that you decided to dump corrosive waste in, rendering the whole thing unusable?”   
“If you have to go that bad, I’m sure you’ll manage,” Sherlock answered, sounding unconcerned.   
“Oh my God!”   
Greg appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later.  
“What’s all the shouting about?”   
“Sherlock’s taking for-bloody-ever in the shower and I have to use the loo.’  
“So just use it.”  
“But-“  
“It’s not like either of you hasn’t seen the other naked before,” he said with a leer.   
“Stop thinking of us naked,” John muttered. “Sherlock, I’m coming in!”  
“What? No!”  
“Yes!” I have to take a piss. I’m giving you three seconds to close the curtain or whatever and then I’m coming in. One, two, three!”  
John pushed the door open despite Sherlock’s squawk and rushed to the loo, quickly relieving himself. He washed his hands and stalked out of the bathroom, muttering under his breath about high maintenance partners. Greg went in after John, to a cry of “Greg!” and the sound of the curtain being quickly drawn. Greg rolled his eyes at the dramatics and quickly relieved himself, washing his hands before he too left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.   
He found John in the kitchen, making tea and toast. Greg sat down at the table, watching John putter angrily around the kitchen, slamming the teapot around.   
Greg sat staring at his small angry partner, head leaning on one hand. He knew better than to try and talk to John, for fear of getting his head bitten off. He could tell John was working himself into a froth and was not in the mood to get caught in the cross hairs.  
A few minute later John placed a mug in front of Greg, using slightly more force than necessary. He didn’t say anything to him but ran his hand possessively over the back of Greg’s neck, and Greg knew he was getting angry sex later.  
He alternated watching John move around the kitchen and imagining what the sex was going to be like until Sherlock came swanning into the kitchen and plucked one of the mugs John had prepared from the counter, putting it to his lips and leaning against the coutner.  
“Call the bloody plumber,” John said darkly, keeping his back to Sherlock as he buttered the toast.   
“I thought you were going to,” he answered, taking another sip from his mug.  
“You made the mess, you fix it,” Greg said from his spot at the table.   
“Didn’t you say you were going to call them?” Sherlock said, looking thoughtfully into the air for a moment.   
“No, both John and I told you you needed to call the plumber. Like a week ago. I thought you had done it.”  
“Nope,” Sherlock said, popping the ‘p’.   
“You realize you can’t do any experiments down there until you call a plumber, yeah?”  
“Why not?”  
“Remember when we first designated it as your space, and we all agreed you could do experiments there on the one condition that you keep the bathroom functional at all times so that it could act as an emergency shower, should you have an accident in the lab?” John said in a carefully controlled voice.  
Sherlock squinted, pretending to look into his mind palace. “Must’ve deleted it,” he shrugged.  
“Well don’t delete it this time,” John said quietly, steel underlying it. “You will call the plumber, and you will do it today. Understood?”  
“Okay,” Sherlock said, clearly deciding this was not a battle he wanted to fight.  
“Okay. Eat your toast.” John shoved a plate of toast into Sherlock’s hands, and brought a plate for himself and for Greg to the table. They sat and ate while Sherlock wolfed down his own plate and moved into the living room, presumably to call the plumber.   
“No wonder the water bill is always so damn high,’ Greg muttered.   
John huffed but didn’t say anything, finishing off his toast. “Done?” he asked gruffly, taking Greg’s empty plate without waiting for a response.   
“I guess so,” Greg said with a small chuckle.  
“Good, because we’re going to bed.”  
“But it’s nine in the morning.”  
“We’re not sleeping,” John said, a dark look glinting in his eyes as he took Greg’s hand.   
“Oh, good,” Greg said, allowing himself to be led out to the living room.   
“The plumber will be here this afternoon,” Sherlock said as they crossed through the living room.  
“Yup,” John said, not stopping.   
“Are you still angry?”  
“Ask me in half an hour,” he answered as he got into the bedroom, throwing Greg down onto the bed. 

Half an hour later, it was a more subdued Sherlock that walked into the bedroom.  
“Feeling better?” he asked John, who was currently curled around Greg on the bed.   
“Yeah,” John answered, patting the empty spot beside him on the bed. “You know why I was frustrated, right?”  
“Yes John,” Sherlock sighed. He hated having to talk about feelings.   
“Okay,” John answered, leaving it there for now.   
“Stop talking,” Greg mumbled from John’s other side. “ ’M trying to sleep.”  
John chuckled, pulling Sherlock closer so the three of them were in one tangled mess of limbs. With one last look at his two partners, John slipped into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
